The Vagrant
by Yearning
Summary: Sometimes, it's not where you're running to, it's where you're running from that matters most. Selected memories of Alphonse "Panther" Caluroso's dealings with Wolf, and a life spent trying to outrun, well, almost everything. R&R Appreciated
1. Troubled

Thank you once again to the people who gave me such kind encouragement on my first effort. This story is perhaps a little more resonant with me, drawing as it does on experiences that are closer to my real life than I'd normally want to commit to paper. I will have to see if that makes for better writing or not.

This constitutes a companion piece to "The Lonely."

Standard disclaimers apply.

* * *

He had been maintaining a rucksack of fresh clothes for quite a while now, hidden at the back of his wardrobe under an old coat he'd not worn for years. He'd packed the essentials, enough to keep him going for a week, along with a stash of money and a couple of maps. So far it had remained undisturbed, which helped ease his mind a little. He could scarce afford to be discovered before he'd finalised plans for escape.

The house-servants were making sure to check in on him regularly, as per his father's directives. Even his maid, Annelise, was being instructed to keep a watchful eye and inform the head butler if any of his behaviour was out of the ordinary. It was a shame. He'd always been fond of the girl, who'd treated him more like a big brother than the 'young master', but she was paid for a purpose and could not afford to anger her employer.

No-one in the house could afford to anger Titus Caluroso, not since the incident. They would not breathe a word about it to one another, but they all knew. They had all seen it.

Alphonse sat himself on the end of his bed, hands pressed to his temples, scouring his brain to ensure he'd accounted for everything, shooting frequent glances at the clock. He felt coiled like a spring, uncomfortably taut. It had taken so long, but an opportunity had presented itself and could _not_ be wasted.

There had been a rumour passing amongst the house staff this afternoon that O'Donnell, leader of the infamous Starwolf, was holed up at Corinthe's Spaceport, left alone because the local arm of the Judiciary was too spineless to try apprehending him. "If they just stormed in now, they could catch him easily." one of the kitchen staff had been saying. "There's only the two of them now, after all." They had been bemoaning the lack of backbone in their local law enforcement, but Alphonse had felt inspiration strike in that moment.

The timing could not have been more perfect, with his father hosting a business meeting in the offices at the far end of the house. Even if it were only a rumour, he had to take his chances now. The longer he left it, the greater the chances of being discovered before he could make a move.

He'd been down to dinner recently, none of the servants able to meet his gaze when he'd asked to dine alone. They remained, of course, though Annelise had at least obliged by shuffling out of the room hurriedly, face grim. Judd, the head butler, had escorted him back to his room, which had been around quarter to seven. Alphonse glanced at the clock again. Five past seven on the dot, the sun having gone down a good hour earlier. There was probably, at most, fifteen minutes before someone was sent to make sure he was behaving himself.

The rucksack was sitting in front of him, between his legs, ready to go. He'd not bothered checking it today, he'd looked in so many times he could probably list the contents from memory. Snatching the handles securely, he sprung to his feet and headed to the windows, pushing them open. This had played out so many times in his head as he obsessing over the details, it _had_ to work.

He leaped out, reaching out his free hand with claws outstretched to dig into the bark of the tree opposite, using it to slide to ground, ignoring the pain. Landing with a thump he swiftly glanced around, wary for any sign of being noticed, but there was nothing. His fingers aching, he flexed them and headed for the garages, keeping to the shadows as best he could.

Earlier he'd been canny enough to swipe the keys to his mother's two seater, not the fastest car on the grounds by certainly the quietest by some margin. As he went to start the engine, he finally noticed the tremor in his hands, his racing heartbeat. _-Not now, I need to focus, I need to focus!-_ Jamming the key into the lock, he hit the ignition and gently eased the car down the drive, keeping the lights off and avoiding the gravel either side of him. He spared a glance into the rear-view mirror: the mansion still looked quiet, no-one had yet run out to catch him in the act.

A sudden vibration in his pocket sent a shock through the length of him, his tail whipping behind him like painfully: a message to his mobile, now? He fought to keep his composure and carried on, following the road on the lowest power setting he could manage without stalling. It was certain that someone would have been sent to check on him by now, but they would waste precious minutes searching the east wing of the house before the alarm was raised.

The gates to the estate were open, which was unusual, but he wasn't about to question his good fortune, coasting past them and out onto the main road. He turned left and put his foot down, feeling the engine come to life and take the car forward with sudden speed. He kept the lights off for an extra ten minutes before he felt far enough away to risk turning them on, breathing a sigh of relief as he joined the sparse traffic on the motorway. So far, so good, it seemed.

x x x

The first time he saw Wolf O'Donnell, he'd thought he was a vagrant. This was an observation he decided not to share, naturally. Still, he'd not been impressed, even once he'd figured out exactly who he'd been talking to.

Well, it was to be expected, wasn't it? He'd seen so much of the infamous Starwolf team, heard of the Wolven heavy strike fighters they'd been using and the various escapades they'd embarked upon... he'd guessed the news was prone to romanticising things a little, but there was precious little in the way of romance and glamour in their first meeting.

The drive to Corinthe took about three hours, during which he'd had a chance to think, which was perhaps the worst thing he could have done. By the time he actually got onto the winding road leading up to the spaceport proper he'd been near enough hyperventilating and checking his mirrors every ten seconds for fear that his pursuers would be mere feet behind him.

Stepping out of the car and breathing in the cool night air had been a shock to the system, but a much needed one. From up here on the high hills where the spaceport was situated, he could see for miles around. Everything was quiet, not a siren or speeding car in sight. He'd already known he was over-reacting, but it was useful to see the proof.

Inside the port office, the clerk had pointed him, albeit reluctantly. to Hanger 19, giving him dire warnings he'd barely acknowledged. What good would it do to take them to heart? He could no longer go back or stay still, only move forward, whatever the danger. When his phone had started to vibrate in his pocket again, he hurried his pace. Time was beginning to run out.

So here he was, certainly the right place, but where he had been expecting to see at least a Wolven sitting in dock, there was only a beat-up Vespedrile, a god-damn tow ship of all things. Most of the overhead lights in the hanger had been left off, only illuminating the sole occupied corner. Someone had cracked open just about every service panel the Vesp possessed, presumably the same someone now leaning into the engine compartment.

What little Alphonse could see of him was torn blue jeans and a little of his white shirt, both of them covered in oil streaks, along with a tail currently covered by an oil-stained rag. A toolbox lay open on top of a nearby packing crate, the faint blue flash of an active comms unit visible from within.

_-Vagrant.-_ He had assumed this immediately. There were always one or two in any spaceport, lonely wanderers drifting around the system, setting down wherever and whenever they could for repairs or work odd-jobs for food money. They had no home to call their own, only their ships and their wits to see them through life.

A thorough scan of the rest of the hanger, dark as most of it was, poured cold dread in his stomach. No sign of the mercenary or his ship, and the nearby hangers had been open and empty as he passed... Alphonse realised his big plan might finally be coming off the rails. Here he was, a runaway from home standing in a dirty spaceport, staring at a vagrant's ass. He hadn't expected everything to go completely smoothly, but this was a little depressing.

He had to try and salvage the situation. Perhaps Captain O'Donnell had merely stepped out? Only one way to find out.

"Hello?" No response, except a few quiet snatches of tuneless whistling. He cleared his throat. "Excuse me? Do you know where I may find Wolf O'Donnell?" The whistling stopped.

"What do you want with a troublemaker like that?" came the eventual reply, amongst the racket of a number of hammer strikes. Alphonse looked around nervously. Vagrant or no, he didn't want to risk being overheard asking this. He lowered his voice.

"I had heard" he glanced around again, wringing his hands, "that he was in need of a new pilot, and looking for a replacement."

"Heh! So they say... what makes you think you're up to the job?"

The effrontery of this greasy hobo, questioning his credentials! "I think that is for _him_ to assess." he shot back, voice suddenly brittle and cold, feeling the anger flare up in his stomach. He could not afford to be delayed, certainly not by interstellar delinquents with ideas above their station!

"Alright then, kid." Wolf stepped out from behind the open engine panel, snatching the rag from over his tail and wiping his hands on it, giving Alphonse the shock of his life when he realised who he'd been snapping at. "So I'm assessin' you. What's a snot-nosed rich kid like you got to offer my team?"

The panther's jaw worked up and down soundlessly for a moment before he realised he was being given a chance to sell himself on his merits. He swallowed nervously and tried to compose himself._ -Come on, Alphonse! You have to convince him quick!-_

"I, uh... I have Academy Commendations of Excellence in space and atmospheric navigation..." Wolf nodded, not looking up from the business of getting the oil from under his claws, while Alphonse stared at the floor and tried to dredge up his qualifications from memory without stuttering over them. "I'm fluent in all s-system languages, major and minor, an ACE in G-Induction and diffusion engineering, I have..."

"Yeah yeah kid, very cool." Wolf waved him down before he could go any further. "So yer qualified. Got more pats on the head than I'll ever have, for sure." He shot him a skeptical look, which rooted the feline to the spot. "Still doesn't tell me jack about why you want in."

Alphonse felt a sliver of pure panic shoot through him: Surely he was worth at least enquiring further about? Was O'Donnell not convinced? Not even impressed, perhaps? He dropped his hands to his sides, the left almost recoiling as it brushed against the phone in his pocket, which was vibrating again._ -Not good, not good!_- If he couldn't convince him to take him on as a pilot..._ -shit shit shit!- _It wasn't like he could book passage off-world without his ID card, and that had been the first thing his father had taken!

"I-I-I can pay..." he struggled to keep his tone even, even as his tail start to shiver uncontrollably, betraying his nerves for all to see.

Wolf raised an eyebrow, looking thoughtful for a moment. "You need it bad, don't you?" He turned back to the Vesp and pushed the main engine panel closed. "I wonder..."

A crackle came from the toolbox as a voice interrupted. "Wolf, respond!"

"What is it, Leon? I'm almost..."

"Radar is picking up a large Judiciary presence headed your way! Do you have the goods and transport secured? Return to the carrier ASAP!"

Wolf's good eye widened momentarily before he snapped back into action and grabbed the comms unit out the toolbox, throwing in the loose tools nearby in before snapping the lid shut and toting it back to the Vespedrile at speed, stowing it in the cargo space. "Looks like your Papetoon flatfoots finally got themselves a shred of courage, guess this interview is over."

"But...!"

"Look kid, I sympathise, you obviously got your reasons, but it ain't all darin' adventure and battle for us, you know. Most of the time it's kinda like this. You'd get bored real fast." He was definitely rushing now, moving around his ship sealing the open service panels as fast as he could manage. A sudden wave of guilt nudged Alphonse forward to help. He could guess why the law had suddenly decided to turn up, and it wasn't for the mercenary.

Once the last panel had been closed, Wolf made a dash for the pilot's door. "Sorry we couldn't talk more, kid." he offered as he moved past. _-No... why now?-_ His chance was gone, just like that, and he felt despair reaching out to swallow him whole as the Vesp's door clicked and hissed open.

"Please..."

Something in the tone of the panther's voice stopped Wolf in his tracks; a note of desperation that hadn't been there before. He turned back to look at Alphonse, standing with his back to him, tail still shivering, fists balled tightly. He wasn't asking the mercenary, or anyone else, just the universe around him. Pleading.

"Please, get me away from here."

There was a long moment of silence, followed by footsteps and the sound of the cockpit door being swung wide.

"C'mon then, let's see them fancy certificates of yours in action."

Alphonse turned to see Wolf holding open the pilot-side door for him, wearing a mischievous grin. It was all he could do not to dive in head-first.

x x x

Some time later...

After all the excitement earlier, sitting quietly in the hanger of the Starwolf carrier was, by comparison, unnervingly quiet. His unease was not helped by having Leon glaring at him through the cockpit window as soon as he'd touched down, like he was some kind of spacial anomaly. The chameleon had dragged his boss out the Vespedrile soon after, no doubt for the heated 'conversation' he could faintly hear from the nearby hallway.

He'd yet to actually move to leave the ship, or even let go of the flight control. In the panic of making his getaway he'd gripped it so tightly it had brought his claws out, burying them deep into the rubberised grip, which were so far reluctant to let them go. It was uncomfortable, but that was alright, really. The sensation in his fingers it caused was something to focus on, something that wasn't the feeling of his phone, pressing against his leg.

_-This is one _hell_ of a tow-ship.-_ Alphonse mused to himself, looking around the cockpit. Most Vesps handled like a pig in mud, but this one had obviously received some serious modification. The controls had been sharp as knives, and the power was like the entire ship was sixty percent engine, which was just unreal. He could have sped literal rings around the Judicer craft with a few flicks of his wrist alone, he almost had. He'd even managed to impress Wolf, who'd quickly strapped himself in securely after the first spinning sideways dive had nearly tossed him out of his seat.

Now, he had to wait, which was fine. Time enough to compose himself a little, and remind himself that he'd done what he'd set out to do, escaping beyond the reach of his father's grasp. Who knew, perhaps he could even persuade himself to be happy about it.

He flexed his fingers a few times, feeling one of his claws eventually come free with a 'thunk', sliding back into its sheath slowly. A few more twitches in his muscles and the rest came loose one by one, until finally he cradled his sore hands in his lap, his fingertips full of that strange over-stretched feeling he got after making too much use of his natural weapons.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Wolf coming back, seeing his stern expression even at this distance. No doubt he'd figured out the reason for the unexpected race against the law earlier, and was most likely angry. It came as a surprise when, rather than grabbing him out the pilot seat by the scruff of his neck, Wolf climbed back in the passenger seat and closed the door behind him.

"You got some explainin' to do, Caluroso. Like how the hell a runaway kid warrants half the damn police in the county ridin' to come fetch you back, say?"

Alphonse nodded wearily. Fatigue was creeping up on him. "Where should I start?"

"Well... how come the son of Papetoon's biggest landowner ends up comin' to _me_ for a job?"

"I needed to get away." he replied, voice flat, even when Wolf gave him a curious, sideways glance. "I had to escape, however I could."

"So tell me why. I kinda need to know before I can think about letting you on the team."

Alphonse tilted his head to look at Wolf, who was giving him what approximated a friendly, concerned look. He suspected the friendliness and concern were aimed in two different directions, but that was fine. It was all fine now, whether he kept quiet and got dropped on the nearest planet, or told all and got the same plus weird looks all the way there. He leaned back in his seat and shut his eyes, taking a deep breath. All fine or not, it was easier to talk if he imagined his words just being swallowed by the darkness.

"It started when I was eighteen, on my birthday..."

He told his story simply, without embellishment. He refrained from making anyone the hero or villain, or letting emotion skew his perspective, even as his voice occasionally wavered at his recollection. Wolf sat and listened patiently, interrupting only once to ask a question, otherwise keeping quiet, which had taken Alphonse by surprise. He'd not expected a mercenary to be much interested in his circumstances, but every time he paused too long he was gently encouraged to continue, so eventually it all came out, without omission. He never once opened his eyes, and never saw the other's expression.

At the end of it, once he'd laid out the entire sorry tale, Wolf nodded and became thoughtful, staring out across the hanger as he digested it all, making sense of it. By the time he turned back to ask more, Alphonse had fallen dead asleep, his energy reserves finally spent. Grabbing his jacket from behind his seat, he draped it over the feline with care before stepping out the cockpit and pushing the door closed, keeping quiet as he headed to the bridge.

x x x

Leon looked up from his seat at the navigation console as Wolf crossed to his chair and dropped into it heavily, stretching out. "So, what did Mr High Society have to say for himself?" the chameleon finally asked.

"He's on the run. Sounds like he's got the family from hell."

"Huh." Leon rolled his eyes. "Doesn't every teenager think that?"

Wolf went quiet for a moment before he replied, forming his answer carefully. "Most of them, yeah. But I think he's maybe right."

Leon raised an eye ridge and shrugged, turning back to his map. "It's your call. You're the boss."

Wolf nodded slowly and swivelled his chair to look out at space. He wasn't the charitable type, normally, but there was little to be gained from letting such a talented pilot just walk away. Especially when he was a pilot down on his minimum crew. Besides... he was starting to feel sorry for the guy, and that was rare enough that he'd at least make the effort to bring him on board.

"Leon, when you're done with the course, crack into the files for Corinthe Mercy Hospital on Papetoon, look for info on someone called Edris Canes. Male, canine." He tilted his chair and propped his feet up on the support for his console. "Figure we might as well check his story scans before we break out the party hats."

Leon nodded and scooted over to the computer. At last, something _juicy_ to sink his teeth into: Espionage.

x x x

He didn't dream, for which he was thankful. Beyond the boundaries of his subconscious and the waking world, monstrous visions waited to terrify him. If he never dreamt again it would be a blessed relief.

The jacket had slipped down as he had turned in his sleep, now draped across his legs keeping at least some of him warm. He smoothed the fabric with the flat of his hands before folding it and placing it neatly across the passenger seat. There was no chronometer in sight, and he idly wondered how long he'd been asleep.

So, this was success? He'd got away from Papetoon, despite all his doubts and the close shave involving over twenty Judicer pursuit craft. That had been too crazy, too close. Spinning the Vesp to make it almost impossible to get a clear shot on it was a highlight, certainly. Now he was en-route to... wherever. Somewhere other than home, which was good enough. He'd be out of range_. -Out of range... oh!-_

The thought suddenly occurred to him and he pulled his phone out. It had been vibrating in his pocket all during his daredevil flight, his heart threatening to beat right out his chest with each tell-tale buzz. Once he'd left the atmosphere and moved out of satellite range, it had mercifully stopped.

Did he dare look? It wasn't like he expected it to be anything but a stack of abuse he'd received. He gingerly flipped it open and checked the display. Somehow he'd managed to clock up eight missed calls, 23 messages and two p-mails. The voice mail indicator was lit, but away from the reach of the local network he'd be unable to listen to them, which was probably a blessing. He clicked into the menu and looked through, noting the six missed calls from his father and two from Judd. Doubtless the faithful retainer had been roped into trying to contact him while his father hammered redial.

The messages were only a little more varied. Before the expected flurry of text-based parental rage, though, was a surprising entry: Annelise. Why would she be sending him messages? He somehow doubted the entire staff had been enlisted in trying to get through to him. Flicking down to the details, he blinked in surprise when he saw the time stamp. The message had been sent at ten past seven the previous evening, which would have been when he was sneaking the car down the drive towards the gates. Why had she messaged him then, of all times? He opened the message, curiosity demanding he investigate.

_-Mr _Caluroso_, I hope you are on your way when you get this, I have left the gates open for you. I'm sorry I can't help more, will keep the others from finding you've gone as long as I can. I put some things of yours I hid from your father in your bag, I know how much they mean to you. Be safe.-_

He felt the sting of tears beginning to well up and pushed it down, commanding his body not to let them out, like he'd been doing for so many months now. So she'd known, and... the gate had been her doing? If his father found out it had been her who'd assisted him, she'd... His father's rage would not be sated by a mere strike of the hand or a beating, he'd leave her bloody and broken. He would have to hope the other staff would not let it happen. What else could he do now but hope for her?

Pressing his hands against his face, he took a couple of deep breaths and tried to calm down. There was no point having an almighty freak out before he knew anything about what happened, right? He nodded to himself and popped the seal on his door, stepping out into the hanger and making a beeline for the hallway leading to the rest of the ship. He'd waited long enough.

x x x

A few minutes later and he'd arrived on the bridge, having taken in such sights as Storage Locker One and Three, as well as the curiously spotless canteen. He took one look across the room at Wolf, still lounging in the captain's chair in his oil-stained everything, and decided that it was almost certainly Leon who'd taken charge of the kitchen area.

"How long was I asleep for?" he asked quietly, stretching a little to work out the stiffness in his spine.

"About three hours. Figured you could use a rest after tellin' me all that." Wolf turned and gestured to a nearby chair, which was quickly occupied.

"Quite an exceptional tow-ship, though not the most comfortable place to sleep."

"Yeah... she's my little hobby." Wolf grinned and swivelled a little in his chair. "I like havin' some wings just for flyin' with. Just for fun, y'know?" Alphonse shrugged non-committally: regardless of skill, piloting had always been something that was a task, rather than a pleasure.

With no verbal response forthcoming, the captain coughed and carried on. "Anyway kid, the rules here are simple. No stealin' from each other, no givin' me any shit when I tell you to do somethin', no making trouble when we're out on missions. We got enough people chasin' us round the system without earnin' more. Get it?"

The panther looked shell-shocked. "So... I'm in?" It didn't seem real. Just like that, eh?

"Bingo. Your story checks out, not to mention you're a damn fine pilot. Like you said, I was a man down. Besides, I ain't goin' back to Papetoon any time soon, which I reckon probably suits you just fine, am I right?"

Alphonse nodded absently, still looking dazed as he tried to convince himself it had all happened. He'd started the day all but imprisoned in the mansion, and now? Out in the middle of space on Wolf O'Donnell's carrier. It was hard to credit he was capable of making such a change to his life, but here he was, and he'd changed everything. The proof was there.

So why did the idea refuse to hit home with any sense of conviction?

Wolf got to his feet, stretching and yawning hugely before rummaging around in his pocket. He fished out a key and pressed it into Alphonse's palm.

"Yours is the room up the stairs, first on the right with number 6 on the door. I'm gonna go get some sleep, you oughtta too." Wolf strode past, patting the panther on the shoulder without breaking his stride. "I put your bag in there for you. G'night."

With his new captain gone, Alphonse stood there for a few moments, key in hand, feeling utterly lost, before the notion of bed coaxed a jaw-straining yawn out of him. More sleep didn't seem like such a bad idea at this point. Following Wolf's directions, he stumbled upstairs to the row of doors in the upper corridor, pushing the door open on his new living quarters.

It was better than he'd expected. He let the door swing closed and looked around. A desk was in one corner, the bed pushed into the other, the sheets and pillows both looking clean enough. There was even a window, so he'd have decent views some of the time, when they were in orbit. Right now, however, the view didn't matter, sleep was the thing. He sat on the bed and was about to stretch out when he noticed his rucksack on the end of the bed.

_ -I put some things of yours I hid from your father in your bag, I know how much they mean to you-_

Annelise's message... he'd almost forgotten about it. Grabbing the back over by the handles, he unzipped it and peered inside. Tired as he was, he still couldn't hold back the smile: she'd saved his camera! He'd been sure it had met some untimely end under a hammer, but here it was... hmm? Underneath the camera lay a thick manilla envelope, sealed with tape.

He picked it up cautiously between forefinger and thumb, then turned it over in his hands a couple of times, feeling the contents slide around inside. Was it money? He flicked out a claw and cut the top open, tipping it out onto the bed. The smile died on his face instantly, a tremor starting up in his tail again.

As soon as he caught sight of the first photograph, that's when it hit him, really hit home to the deepest part of him, that he'd escaped and left everything behind. Even the things he shouldn't have. He didn't even realise the tears were falling from him until the first cry shook its way from his chest, but by then it was too late.

Because now he knew, _he_ was the vagrant, with nothing to return to, only the memories of happiness lost, held in these photographs.

The tears just wouldn't stop.


	2. We All Wear Masks

_After a long period of working on about twenty other things concurrently, finally a breakthrough with this piece. If anyone was waiting for more, apologies for the delay. Concrit appreciated._

* * *

Three months drifted past in relative quiet.

Alphonse tried to settle into his new environment as best he could, making himself useful. For the most part he kept himself busy enough that he didn't really have time to think about his situation, running simple courier missions or making adjustments to the attack fighter he'd 'inherited' from a former member of the team. From time to time Wolf had him helping around the ship, sometimes even dragging him back down to the hangar to lend a hand with the Vesp, which was pleasant enough work.

He was even starting to get used to his new team-mates, which was proving a (mostly) enlightening experience. Wolf had been more of a surprise than he'd expected. After all, the media was fond of painting the mercenary as a comic villain, all snarling feral evil and violent sociopathy Though his new captain certainly had his share of angry moments, Alphonse had yet to see him raise so much as a finger against anyone who hadn't attacked them first. About the only thing that seemed correct from the news was his choice of occupation, but even then, it seemed as though the jobs sought him out, rather than the other way round.

Leon, on the other hand... here was someone even the news would only make passing reference to, his reputation an order of magnitude above even Wolf. There wasn't a single survivor of the Lylat War who didn't know about the 'Bloody Scourge of Macbeth' and his encyclopedic knowledge of how to inflict pain. Given that he was the person most often on kitchen duty, it certainly made you look twice at your food.

Beyond that, though, even Leon was nothing like reports described him. Alphonse thought of him mostly as a calm, unobtrusive presence around the ship, who just got on with whatever task was at hand. Given that he was also the ship's unofficial engineer, calmness and steady hands were very desirable qualities. Normally the chameleon kept quiet, only occasionally firing off a sarcastic comeback at Wolf, who seemed to take it all in his stride. For all that Leon seemed somewhat aloof and antisocial, he was often the one who'd come to Alphonse's aid when he was struggling. At such times it was difficult to remember exactly who it was offering that helping hand.

In the end, however, all it took was one brief, unguarded moment to bring the reality of it all into bright, horrid focus.

* * *

It had just been an average morning, in an average week. As he'd become accustomed to, the three of them had gathered for breakfast in the Canteen. This was a ritual of theirs he had fallen into easily: taking his place at the high round table in the centre of the room with Wolf, who'd still be in the process of waking up. Leon was always first in, moving between the two stainless-steel counter tops in the far corner of the room with efficient speed, preparing whatever breakfast concept had caught his fancy at the time.

On this particular morning, his breakfast had been fresh waffles with little caramelised slices of sacho pear. A recent high-paying job and subsequent stop off at a well-stocked market station had allowed Leon to indulge his interest in cookery a little more than usual. The chameleon had set the plate in front of him with care and watched curiously as Alphonse had taken the first cautious bite, turning back with what might have been a smirk of satisfaction when the panther hungrily dug in.

Wolf had been sitting chewing on his toast like a cow chewing grass, arms propped up on the table. It was painfully obvious he still wasn't quite awake yet, wearing nothing but a vest and a pair of baggy, knee-length sleeping shorts, decorated with little Arwing prints. Together with his absent expression and bed-fur, he looked quite puppy-ish. Not that anyone would ever point it out to him, of course, but then there was little point in saying much to Wolf until after breakfast, zombie-like as he seemed until the food kicked in. Leon was just as bad, unfortunately, absorbed in tidying up after himself. Keeping the kitchen area clean was one of HIS little rituals, one it was devilishly hard to turn him from once he'd started.

Alphonse stared out the window above the sink, letting the gentle background hum of the engine and the sound of Leon scrubbing at the dishes wash over him, pondering his day. During their shopping spree at Xerxes Station, he'd finally picked up a decent selection of replacement parts for his Wolven, which he could conceivably spend most of the day fitting and tuning. One of Wolf's stipulations for letting him fly the craft alongside them was that he refitted and tweaked it by hand himself. It made sense to get someone to know their vessel inside out, but it was proving a major task. Whoever had last owned the thing was no engineer and had clearly spent only the barest of effort to keep it running: the engine looked like a pigsty.

Wolf yawned next to him as Leon turned round to fetch the rest of the plates from the table. He felt a yawn of his own rise soon after and stretched out to try and work the stiffness of sleep from his joints, flexing his fingers until his claws peeked from their tips, scrunching up his eyes with the effort.

There was a sudden clatter of plates, at least one shattering on the floor as he sensed movement and felt a large hand suddenly pressed against his chest, pushing him back in his chair.

He opened his eyes again to find Wolf had sprung out of his seat and flung himself across the table, his one hand on Alphonse's chest, the other clamped tightly around Leon's hand. The chameleon had crossed the room and was reaching out towards one of the panther's hands with both his own, one empty, the other grasping the fruit knife urgently.

"Hey..." Though his voice sounded strained, Wolf was desperately trying to keep his tone light and conversational. Like nothing was happening. "what'cha doin', Leon?"

The chameleon's eyes were wide, halfway between terror and fascination, his expression otherwise trance-like. "New knives, Commander O'Donnell..." His gaze was locked onto the curved, polished sharpness of the panther's claws, his voice sounding small and lost. "Do I have to set the blood in motion again?"

"Put those things away _now_, kid!" Wolf hissed under his breath, barely moving an inch as Alphonse pulled the claws in immediately. "Say... why don't you go get some sleep in the Rec' room? You don't have to use the knives any more... _go and rest_."

Wolf loosened his grip and the fruit knife tumbled from Leon's fingers to the floor, the chameleon's eyes suddenly becoming heavy as he shuffled out the canteen and down the hallway. There was the distant click of a door being shut and Wolf sat back in his chair stiffly, scrunching up an ear with his right hand.

"What the _hell_ was that?" Alphonse felt rather than heard his voice crack as he spoke, rising in volume all the time as the shock released itself through him in waves. Wolf's eye flicked open and focused on the panther as he pasted a nervous grin on his face.

"Oh, don't be mindin' him, that wasn't-"

"Don't tell me _that_ was nothing!"

The grin fell and died. "Those claws of yours musta set him off, reminded him of knives. He, uh..." Wolf flopped back in his seat and folded his arms across his stomach, fists clenched tight, struggling with words for a moment. "He ain't so good at, uh, dealing with knives."

Alphonse examined the fingers of his right hand for a moment, forcing the claws out again. They were a family trait, unusually straight and sharp as they were. The 'Caluroso Daggers" as his father would have it. Something else from Titus that had nearly got him killed. The thought alone was enough to drain the fight from him, and by the time he looked back up, the anger had been consumed by fear.

"What would he have done if you'd not been here?" His voice was barely a whisper, his stomach churning, too hollow and too full at the same time, imagination already throwing a hundred awful possibilities at him.

"I..." Wolf's gaze flicked away to the side, his voice sounding unhappy and uncomfortable: right on cue, his tail curled up and around his waist tightly. "I dunno, Al. Never know what gets into his head when he's like that." After a moment's silence he pushed himself out of his chair and walked out, expression still troubled.

A minute or two passed before Alphonse reached down and picked up the knife from the floor, turning it over in his hands for a moment before he noticed the streak of blood across the blade. Wolf perhaps, as he'd reached across to clamp onto Leon's hand. He dropped the knife onto the table, another wave of coldness sweeping across him, the burnt sugar smell of his breakfast only adding to the nausea he felt.

_What if Wolf hadn't been there?_

* * *

The question didn't seem to want to leave him be.

He cleaned the kitchen as best he could (he didn't figure the others would be coming back to do it, and it was something mindless to focus his attention on), dropping the knife into the cleaner before he retreated to his room to get changed.

While he was standing in front of his drawers for suitable attire, so he happened to glance up and catch sight of himself in the mirror. Just for the briefest moment, a fragment of a second, he was startled by his reflection and how strange he looked to himself right now. For the first time since becoming part of the team, he wondered what he might have been doing right now if he were still back at home, what life would have been like if he'd never left. He pressed a finger against the tiny slit of light fur near his mouth, smoothing it out before he shook his head, trying to shake the thought free of his mind.

Re-emerging quickly in a tatty green long-sleeved shirt and black jeans, the first things he could find, he headed down to the hangar as quickly as possible, keen to throw himself into his original plan for the day. Spending a couple of hours up to his elbows in engine parts was more than enough to keep him busy.

The sound of someone else moving around brought him to a halt on the stairs. If it were Leon down there... he wasn't quite sure he was ready to just forgive and forget just yet. He took the remaining steps slowly, his system flooding with relief when Wolf's aimless whistling began drifting through the air.

The captain was already busy, leaning into the cabin of the Vesp with a cleaner, restoring a little hygiene to the interior. He'd not really noticed the first time he'd driven the boxy little yellow craft (he'd had more pressing matters, like keeping alive, in mind), but the previous owner had been one hell of a smoker, from the smell of it. Evidently the smell had finally gotten annoying enough to be dealt with.

Wolf finally noticed him watching and turned off the little hand-held cleaner hurriedly, clambering out of the cabin. As he moved, so Alphonse noticed the thick, messily applied bandages around his left hand.

"Hey, um..." The captain had lost none of his earlier discomfort, it seemed. "How are you doin'?"

"Alright, I guess." the panther kept his tone neutral, gesturing to the bandaged fingers. "You're pretty bad with first aid, I see."

"Yeah... kinda hard to do one handed."

Alphonse felt a little pang of guilt: the wound had been sustained protecting him, after all. With a sigh he glanced around the wide hangar, eyes finally alighting on a nearby table and chairs. He pointed at them and narrowed his eyes. "Go sit."

For a second Wolf looked like he might argue, but then his shoulders slumped and he nodded, walking over, the panther snatching the first-aid box from it's fixture next to the stairs and following, sitting opposite and cracking open the the green metal case.

"You don't have to do..."

"Yes I do." _That_ tone would brook no argument. "Give me your hand."

Looking mildly put out at being corrected, Wolf did as asked, watching in silence as the various knots and loops of his bandage were carefully untied. Alphonse bit back a hiss of sympathetic pain as he turned the hand over and caught sight of the injury. The cuts were across the middle of the two fingers next to the thumb, not deep or especially serious, but the serrated edge of the knife had made them ragged, messy injuries.

"So, doc... I'm gonna live?" Wolf asked with a faint grin, trying for levity.

Alphonse looked up and raised an eyebrow, holding a can of antibacterial spray. "Depends. Did you disinfect this?"

"I, uh..." There was a sudden hiss of aerosol and accompanying stinging. "Hey!"

Wolf felt the beginnings of a snarl deep in his throat, quickly biting it back when he saw the panther start leaning back in his chair, eyes widening in growing panic.

"Sorry, I-I just though, I though if I got it over with quick, I mean..."

"No... I'm the one who should be apologisin', kid. Didn't mean to be all snarly with ya, it just kinda comes natural to me, you know?"

Alphonse nodded slowly, reaching into the box for a roll of bandage, wrapping each injured finger separately, with delicate, cautious care.

"I bet you're real scared of us now, huh. We're turnin' into the monsters you always heard about, right?"

He paused from his bandaging and looked up again. Wolf was staring off aimlessly into the hangar, head turned so that his good eye wasn't visible, just the eye-patch. His voice had been quiet, though, too quiet. Even with his limited knowledge of his captain, Alphonse knew that the question hadn't been an accusation: Wolf tended to wear his worries where his team-mates could see them. He hesitated for a moment to think before he carried on.

"I... not really. I knew what I was signing up for. I've seen as much news about you as anyone."

"Hah... the news. Don't tell me you think we're _that_ bad?"

_-Do I have to set the blood in motion again?-_

In his mind's eye he could see himself in a darkened room, strapped to a chair or perhaps a hospital gurney, Leon standing to one side next to a table bedecked with knives of all kinds, surgical implements, jagged shards of glass. Leaning over him and making dire promises of suffering and pain, all the _fun_ they could have together, finding out just how much of him still needed to remain for him to be alive, yet still wish to _die_...

He snapped back to reality to find Wolf looking at him with great concern, uninjured hand resting lightly on his shoulder. It had taken that outside touch to make him realise just how badly he was shaking. He took a deep, shuddering breath and mentally ordered himself to calm down, shouting down the fear in his mind. Gradually, the tremors ceased and he slumped forward in his chair.

"You're nothing like the news says. I mean, not even a little."

"You ain't seen me in a fight yet. I'm a lot more like they say when I'm pissed off."

"But... why?"

Wolf flashed him a brief smile, sitting back in his chair. "We all wear masks, Al. Gotta protect ourselves somehow. I like to keep me an' my anger a long ways apart." He scratched lazily behind an ear. "Besides, I get more work comin' my way, pretendin' to be a big bad than I ever did bein' Mr Nice Guy. Hell, my rep got _you_ signin' on."

That still begged the question, though. "What about Leon?"

Wolf's entire body tensed briefly. "Leon's complicated."

"So what about the stories about him? What about 'The Bloody Scourge of Macbeth', then?"

There was a long, long pause, stretching beyond uncomfortable silence. "Mostly true."

Alphonse felt a tremor go down his spine immediately. He'd been hoping for another answer, for O'Donnell to turn around and say the whole day had been a big joke and Leon was cool, everything was fine, they'd been messing with him for being stupid enough to believe what he heard on the news, har har, stupid new-guy Al...

He knew it could never have been that way. Even the news couldn't invent a monster like Leon Powalski without something awful, something _real_, to back it up.

"Don't _you_ get scared of him? Even a little?"

"Sometimes... sometimes a lot..." He hung his head, eye closed. "But who else is gonna take care of him, if I don't?"

* * *

Alphonse finished his first aid and the two of them went back to what they'd been doing. The rest of the morning just seemed to drift past without leaving much of an impression, though he had to admit, by the time he ground to a halt and closed up the engine access, that he'd gotten a lot done.

Even then, he'd finished far earlier than expected, and ended up meandering across the hangar to lend a hand with the Vespedrile. With the reek of cigar smoke finally purged from it, the boxy little craft was more pleasant to sit in, and Wolf had already finished with the cabin. As ever, though, the yellow exterior remained filthy, as most ships of this type tended to be.

"Don't you ever worry that all these mods you keep installing are getting noticeable?" He'd asked, inspecting the sides. The standard Vespedrile-class tow-ship consisted of a small, boxy cabin up front and a cargo hold directly behind of equal size, leaving the other half of the ship's capacity for the engine.

"When's the last time YOU ever took a close look at one o' these scruffy-lookin' things?" Wolf had replied, giving the hull a fond pat of the hand and getting a dirty hand for his trouble. This particular ship, thanks to many, many revisions of the engine spec, was probably about three-quarters engine now, the filthy sides dotted with maneuvering thrusters and the engine itself graced with a dozen or more improvements to the basic design.

The two of them spent a further couple of hours tweaking the Vesp's engine, while Wolf told him stories of the various weird and dangerous scrapes he'd gotten himself into with the battered old ship. It was... nice. Soothing. Al was unsure if, prior to joining the team, he'd ever just spent time doing something with someone, just enjoying their company. At least someone who wasn't on his father's payroll and addressing him as 'young sir.'

By the time the ship's clock had ticked over to 19:00, he found himself being pushed gently in the direction of the kitchen. Wolf was certainly not as capable in the kitchen as Leon, but he could still rustle up a decent set of sandwiches when needed. The rumbling of his stomach alerted Alphonse to the fact that he'd completely missed lunch, and he devoured his food double-quick, not really paying attention when his captain ducked out for a few minutes, hungry as he was.

By the time he finished and turned around again, Wolf was already tidying things away.

"You know... you should probably go talk to Leon before you turn in."

"I, uh..."

Wolf turned round and leaned back against the counter. "Look, you can't be scared of him forever. He's probably feelin' shitty about what happened anyway. Just go poke yer head round the door and see what he's got to say."

"But, he's..." What could he say? He's a killer? A psychopath? He'd known the stories before he got here, and he'd been happy enough to let the guy cook him breakfast for three months, lend him a hand when he needed one. If things got nasty, he was at least prepared now, it couldn't hurt to go listen to what he had to say. "I'll go see him now, then." Turning on his heel, he started walking towards the door.

"Al."

He paused mid-stride. "Hm?"

"I ain't saying you shouldn't be careful, but... he ain't what you think." He didn't turn to see, but he could tell from that quiet tone of voice, that note of sadness, that this was serious. "He ain't what anyone thinks he is."

He nodded slowly and carried on, closing the canteen door behind him.

* * *

It took him five whole minutes, standing in the corridor, to work up the courage to actually knock on the door.

"Come in, Alphonse."

He pushed the door open hesitantly. Leon had wrapped a blanket round himself, sitting in the patched up leather recliner in the corner of the room, which was dark save for the flickering images from the video screen on the wall and the beam of his sunlamp. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, hands behind his back holding onto the door handle, prepared for a quick getaway.

"How did you know it was me?"

Leon cocked his head to one side. "Wolf has never knocked on a door in his entire life."

"I, uh... thought I'd just come and see..."

"Wolf sent you." He cut in, voice blunt and monotone, face likewise betraying no emotion. "I've already been informed that I went a little... over the edge this morning."

"I wasn't really expecting it."

Leon nodded, and closed his eyes for a moment. When he spoke again his voice had grown quieter, softer. "You're probably the only person in the whole system who wouldn't."

Sitting in Wolf's big recliner made him look small, a mere sliver of a man. The captain wasn't really musclebound, but he had a certain broadness of shoulder, giving him an imposing frame and letting him fit comfortably in his favourite chair. By comparison, the chameleon looked dwarfed by it, which made it hard to believe that this morning he'd managed to creep Alphonse out so thoroughly it had taken all day to calm himself.

"I just never thought about you in that context."

Leon nodded. "_That _must be why you and Wolf get on as well as you do. He's another of these people who's always trying to see the best in others."

"So I noticed. He vouched for you before I came in here."

"I said he tried to see the best in people." Leon gave a half-smile. "Not that he was overly smart. He's been looking for the good in me for years." The smile faded to nothing, leaving only that deep-rooted weariness he'd had earlier. "You'd think the big idiot would have figured out it's not there to find."

"Well, he seems pretty confident. Even got me in here after you tried to... I mean, after this morning."

"I can't always control it. I saw those..." the chameleon trailed off, his eyes losing focus for a brief moment before he shook his head a little and forcibly dragged his attention back. "...the claws surprised me."

Alphonse brought one of his hands up absently, spreading his fingers and looking at their tips. "These things aren't all that..."

"Don't! Don't let me see them!" Leon gasped, bringing his arms up to cross them in front of his eyes, the blanket falling from his shoulders. He realised his mistake almost instantly, but as he snatched at the cloth he already knew it was too late to cover it up again.

"Gods..." There wasn't much else to be said.

The chameleon's bare chest, his sides, arms, every visible square inch of him save for his face, all of it was covered in what looked like scars, but unlike any he'd ever seen before. A continuous cover of swirling ridges and grooves, spinning into curls and unwinding in undulating waves across otherwise pale green skin. There was something almost hypnotic about the path of them, leading the eye in ever more unexpected directions.

"Morbid curiosity?" Leon finally asked, when the silence and staring went on too long. Alphonse blinked once or twice and averted his gaze.

"Sorry, I... sorry..."

"Don't worry about it. I'm used to it, that's one of the reasons I lock my door when I'm using my sunlamp."

The panther nodded slowly. He'd already been warned about not disturbing Leon when he was having his sun-time: cold-bloods needed to keep warm, and it seemed chameleons required sunlight, simulated or otherwise, to keep the shifting hue of their hide stable. Or maybe it was just another aspect of his instability, it was hard to be sure.

Gradually, Alphonse found his eyes being slowly dragged to that patterned skin once more, following the path of the grooves as they coursed along his form. "How did you...?"

Leon looked away, expression readable for a moment and most definitely troubled. "A side effect of my former employer's power. He..." he seemed to shrink further into the chair, becoming smaller and more vulnerable. "When he changed me to suit his needs, his power could not be controlled. It marked me."

"He changed you?"

"He broke me so he could rebuild me." He replied, voice blank, as though he were talking about someone else. When Alphonse looked at him expectantly, he shook his head. "I will explain some other time."

The "Bloody Scourge of Macbeth" was reputed to be Andross's creation, something he had formed personally. Perhaps some kind of mind control, brain-reprogramming? The scientist was reputed to be a monstrously powerful psychic, it wasn't outside the realms of possibility that he had found a way. It certainly didn't seem like any normal kind of wound, those gentle, unpredictable swirls...

There was a polite cough and Alphonse realised he'd been staring again. He looked elsewhere again hurriedly. "Sorry..."

"Are these scars really so intriguing to you?"

"It's, I mean, the pattern is astonishing..."

Leon raised an eye-ridge and gave a half-smile. "Astonishing? Never been called that before, probably never again." The smile faded to sadness, then to impassiveness. "Don't be hypnotised by their pattern. They're treacherous."

"I don't under-"

"They used to say..." His voice had gone passive again, flat, like he were relating a story he'd only heard, and not been the cause of. "...that in my days as a torturer, the guards assigned to keep an eye on me would sometimes come in and find me surrounded by nothing but finely shredded gore. The blood would seep into every groove in my body, until every inch of me was nothing but violent red and green lines, without exception. They'd drag me out screaming obscenities, ranting and raving..." He caught sight of the panther's face and stopped, recognising his expression as a sign his imagination had been stirred into horrible overdrive.

"They used you like that?" he finally said, once his thoughts receded from the awful images Leon's story evoked.

"All the time. Throw someone into my cell and hit record, wait for them to start singing the truth. Then they turned off the tape and left me to it. At least until Wolf turned up. The first person who ever came to see me there who treated me like a real person. It would have been rude not to be polite in response."

"He seems to just shake things up for people." Alphonse commented quietly.

"You mean trouble walks two paces behind him wherever he goes..."

A long moment of silence unfurled between them, the panther looking around the room for something that would hold his attention away from the grooves and swirls of Leon's skin, while the chameleon sat in silence, expression once more impossible to decipher. After a moment or two, he got to his feet again, pulling the blanket back over his bare shoulders and heading for the door. The panther scooted to one side to let him past.

"So, uh..."

"You're a good man, so let me give you some advice." Leon paused at his side and looked up at him. "Deep down inside me, there's a monster. I can't help that, but I can tell you that when it bares its fangs... that's not me. Don't ever be fooled into thinking it's me. Or else one day, it's going to catch you unawares and bite your head off."

The chameleon became silent, giving him a curious, searching look, as though waiting for a visible reaction, then nodded, pulling the door open to walk down the hall to his cabin.

Alphonse watched him go, hands balled into fists, but they just wouldn't stop shaking.


End file.
